Your best tantrum stories

It happened after swimming class at La Petite Baleen in San Bruno. My son, Dante, and I were walking, hand in hand, back to the car, when he said, “I want to stay in San Bruno.” I was surprised that he was even aware that his swim class is in San Bruno.

“Sweetheart, we must get back to San Francisco for your doctor’s appointment.” His 4-year-old check-up was scheduled for after class.

“No, I want to stay in San Bruno!”

“No, we have to go back to San Francisco! Maybe next week after class we can stay in San Bruno.”

Dante flopped onto the ground and started to kick and scream. I stood there watching, a little shocked because Dante has always been my mellow child. He never throws full-blown tantrums; screaming fits are his sister’s territory.

I waited a few minutes to see if he would snap out of it, but he didn’t so I scooped him up and carried him to the car as he wailed, “I want to stay in San Bruno!”

I had to seriously wrestle him to get him into the car seat; he was pushing me away with his hands and feet. And the screaming! I never knew my son had such a set of lungs. A father and son walked by and I worried they might call the cops.

When I pulled onto the freeway, Dante screamed, “Turn around! I want to live in San Bruno!”

I found his comment so random and so odd that I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I tried to stop, honestly.

Oh man! My guffaw made Dante even madder.

“I don’t like San Francisco! I want to go back to San Bruno!” he screamed while kicking the back of my seat on the entire 15-minute drive home. At this point, I was not laughing. In my firmest voice, I told him, “No! We have to go back to San Francisco.”

We pulled into the garage and I carried him into the house, as he flailed in my arms like a wild animal. I set him down on the couch in the living room. His eyes were swollen, his face puffy, his cheeks the color of tomatoes. He was furious, and looked as if he might explode. He threw all the cushions down onto the ground. “I want to live in San Bruno!” Huffing and puffing, he pushed all the magazines and books off the coffee table. “I want to live in San Bruno!”

That’s when I remembered the strategy I used with my daughter, who threw a tantrum nearly every day between the ages of 1 and 4. Instead of contradicting her or exclaiming, “No,” I repeated what she was saying. I confirmed her wishes and acted as if I understood how she felt.

“You want to live in San Bruno,” I said to Dante in my most concerned voice.

He took a deep breath and started to relax. His blood-curdling cries turned into whimpers. Finally, his mother was listening to him.

“Yes Mommy, I want to live in San Bruno.”

“It’s OK to want to live in San Bruno. It’s a nice place.” I gave him a big hug.

“I want a donut Mommy. They have donuts in San Bruno.”

And that’s when I remembered that my husband took him to swim class last week. A light bulb appeared above my head: Daddy must have bought him a donut in San Bruno after swimming. Darn him!

“They have donuts in San Francisco too,” I reassured Dante.

“They do?”

“Yes, and how about we go get you a donut in San Francisco after your doctor’s appointment.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

I know that you’re not supposed to reward a child after throwing a tantrum, but how could I not give the poor kid a donut after all that.